


I Can’t Own You?

by MillyBxB



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Billionaire, Danger, Drama, Erotica, Gay, Gay Sex, Homophobia, Homosexuality, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Money, Rich - Freeform, Romance, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28046241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MillyBxB/pseuds/MillyBxB
Summary: Wrong number...usually a person would delete the number, right? A mistaken text leads to blood money and danger. 18+) MATUREChris Johnson, a gender fluid male, receives a text from a mystery guy who shares a card number. Aware that it's an accident text, he uses the money to his advantage until things intensify. With his ex boyfriend, Sam, he flees danger and the thoughts of death. Along the way he revisits the past and dwell on mistakes.
Relationships: Chris - Relationship, James - Relationship, Sam - Relationship





	I Can’t Own You?

ONE

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 2018©️

My phone pings atop a kitchen's counter.

Text: What the fuck you mean you don't have it yet?😡

Milk spills from a bowl in my hands, splattering to the floor as I lean over to read the new text.

Who is this?? I ask the random number contact in my messenger.

Just delete...

no, say, "you have the wrong number 👋🏻 "

No, just leave it alone.

I continue eating my bowl of Lucky Charms. I liked to have the marshmallows outnumber the cereal. I always pluck out the cereal for a bit before being satisfied. I devour the bowl of cereal like the damn hungry hulk. When done, I tilt the bowl and sip the milk. Fruity milk. While gulping it down, another buzzing noise comes from my phone.

Text: Use this card: 5891 5200 6731 7509, get the shit!

I lean over yet again to read the text.

Ooo, money! Stupid ass! I'm gonna wring you dry, bissh!

I grab my phone off the counter and go to IMessage. I copy the numbers to my clipboard, then export it to my notepad app.

This is club money 🙌🏼

....

At a bumping, flashing club, I order a round of drinks for myself and my friend...who I once dated. Sam.

"So the motherfucker texts their card number, you should have seen my face! BISSHHH!!!"

"Was it a guy?" I hear a bit of shielded jealousy in his tone.

"I don't even know." The bartender hands us glasses of vodka mixed with orange juice. I down mine in five seconds and slide the glass away with a cockiness. "Thank yoooouuuuuu for putting this on tab! I'm gonna tip you big."(With my new card number, of course). I wink at the skinny emo kid who grins widely before going to serve others. I slide from the barstool and go to the dance floor, hopping like a crazed bunny to bass-filled music. Once in a wavering crowd, I twerk to the rhythm. "Bitch, you gotta drive. I'm drunk!" My cut up, midnight shirt swings, my flawless lace wig bounces. I knew my tiny ass was snatched in these black skinny jeans I had on. I catch a few hoes looking as I work my hips.

"Don't try to spend anything off the card!" Sam, the buzzkill, warns in a shout over the ever-rising music.

I roll my eyes. "Or what?!"

"Or, you'll probably get tracked and go to jail!"

I stop dancing, feeling deflated from his serious mood. I turn to Sam, the only one not dancing. "Fuck off, why ya mad? You can use the card too! We can go shopping! And–"

"You don't even know how much money is on there!"

"YES, I DO! $10,000 HOE!" I clap my hands with each word.

Sam gives me a baffled look, ready to question how I knew this information. "How-"

I cut him off. "Google. Google is god." A buzz vibrates the inside of my skinny jeans, shaking my skin. I jam my hand into a tight pocket that holds my phone, struggling to get enough wiggle room to even take it out. I strain my fingers for a bit before retrieving my phone. Damn tight pants...

Now under neon lights, I read a text on my lock screen while swaying to the hype music. "Come here, look look look!!" I exclaim, dying in laughter and waving Sam closer. He inches over to see what I wanted.

Text: Fuck you, I'm tracking your phone 🔪

"HAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAA!" I bellowed over the music.

Reply: Imma just get another 😛

Sam disapproves of my text, huffing, he tries to swipe the phone from my hand. But when I'm this lit, my grip is like glue. "Uh uh, stop!" I smell alcohol on my breath and feel the drinks doing their work. The room goes spinny.

"How much did you spend?!" He hisses at me, coming a little too close to my face. "This is dangerous!"

I huff, then blow raspberries at him before power walking to the restroom. With each step I take through close-knitted partiers, I feel Sam tailing after me.

In an untidy restroom, with tissues and wrappers all over the floor, I enter a stall and drop my phone in the toilet. I flush it and watch it whirlpool around the bowl. Illuminating the bowl with its white light. My eyes dart to my wrist, where I written the card number in pen. I smirk, then turn to Sam, raising my shoulders rhythmically to the booming, muffled beat outside. "Solved!"

....

NEXT DAY

I live in New York...that must sound appealing, but trust me, it isn't. I fucking hate it. The city is too fucking crowded, full of rats and trash, smells like unwashed bodies, shit, and piss. It also gets way too cold. I should move, but it's human to stay put. I work at Forever 21. I must say I prefer the fast pace over a slow job that weighs on the brain. Benefits of working in a mall: 🤑 everything looks good on you in your mind, so you buy the hell out of shit. Swiper, yes, swiper 🦊.

My booted feet stomp through five inches of snow, downtown, where millions of people smell their own funk and lose their right to personal space.

Crossing times square, I eye a car, a yellow Kia parked on the busy curb, my Uber. I don't want to walk the whole way to work. But, like many, I need to cut costs, even if I have $10,000 that doesn't mean I can't be a penny pincher. Bitter coldness whacks my face and my cheap wig as I stroll a stamped of people, all making their way to work through thick, snow flurries. I get shoved and nearly knocked down, but that's New York. Deal with it. I sniffle, feeling a slight throb of an oncoming headache. Fuck, come on, aspirin, save me! It's too early for this. I dip out of the way of elbows and fast-moving feet, racing to an opening.

I take a backup phone out of my puffy purple coat...bless me for being smart to have two phones. Everything from the one I drowned is backed up on it too. My Spotify playlists especially. I place in my headphones and play Nicki's Stupid Hoe. I open safari and view my amazon cart, where a new phone case, rose gold, boots with heels, and a new wig, short, black with caramel ombré highlights: a Yolo shirt, and charcoal clay masks. The total is $500. I press the one-click buy now button.

At work, I ring up customers who pile clothes upon clothes onto the counter. A fifty percent off sale is going on, so adults and teenagers grab up everything from perfume, oversized shirts, dresses, shoes, jewelry, underwear and graphic tees. Women usually come for jewelry and shoes, men for coats, watches, or jackets, today that norm was out the window. Everything hit the counter—scan, scan, scan. The register beeps as I power items across the conveyer belt.

"That'll be $75.80." A woman rummages in her bag, striking my nerve. You know ya gonna need to pay, why wait to look for your card now?? My sight ventures to the windows of the store, outside to crowds of people passing or entering other outlets. My gaze focuses on shiny floors and colorful mannequin displays while the lady goes on digging for her card.

On my break, I add random stuff to my cart, a face laser mask and a water flosser; then, I check out—$ 350. In the break room, I munch on a KitKat and Flamin Hots, junk for brunch, as I sit and browse amazon. "Heyy, Chris!" A girl's voice catches my attention.

"Oh, heyy," I reply half-heartedly to Jasmine, an ombre haired, light eyed hot girl. Jasmine here thinks I like her, even though I show no signs of it. She's under the spell that I'm bisexual and won't stop flirting. I'm not even gonna get into what happened between us...just know we used to be tight. "WE ARE NEVER EVER EVER GETTING TOGETHER!" I sing cleverly while I search up vegan yoga mats.

"I like that song too." She scoots a chair beside me. I look ahead at the door with a deadpan expression. Really, girl?? "Whatcha doing?" She asks all perky, her tone medium and soothing.

"Looking up dicks." I switch over to my google tab and show her my search page from last night. Big dicks, to be exact. "Hmmm, mmmm, that's all I want in life." I hint heavily. "Gotta go, byyyyeeeeeeeeee." I didn't really have to go I had five minutes left on lunch, I just needed to make a statement, and a sudden exit always works. Back in the store, a new round of customers circulate, sorting through racks and heading to dressing rooms. I center my badge on a long sleeve pull over jacket. My hoeless feet step on the floor. This causes some of the customers to stare at my socks, confused as to where my shoes were. "I'm ready for my picture." I pose dramatically, placing my hands on my hips.

"CHRIS!" I hear my boss yell. Oh, my fucking god. "Put on your damn shoes!" A fat ass bitch scolds, observing my fluffy, pink socks with an evil eye. My hand flips my long hair back. My boss hides a look of disgust as she approaches me; I see it pinching at the side of her mouth. The Bitch hates anything that isn't straight: "Oh, I'm fine with those kinds of people." She legit said this before: "those kinds of people." Da fuck 💁🏻♀️

"I'm still on break, you know I have a condition, it's either you want a smelly store or you let me let em breathe." She fights so hard not to glare and fire me on the spot, knowing if she did, there would be a lawsuit bigger than her house. "Thank yooou!" I stroll behind my register and lean onto the counter. Damn, I left my snacks. Ugggghhhhhh, I don't wanna walk back. It's so...so far away. Instead, I get on my phone, hiding it below the register, so I don't get caught. The cashier beside me, bucktooth Trisha, peeks over with her never closing mouth. This hoe is just waiting to see a dick pic so she could tell the boss.....like a Hermione with a spy complex.

I receive a mail notification from the balance website about the funds of the card; I didn't care to read the name of the company. All I wanted to read was the body of the email. I click on the notification and read: your balance is $9,150.

...

In my bed, I order jeans, shirts, sexy underwear, jackets, and eyeliner. My cart equals out to $200 worth of items. Thank you, hack site! Just by entering the number into the toolbar of the website. I got the CVV, 734, and the expiration date 04/2021. I also had the routing and account number, all for the cost of a $60 service fee. I order the random shit in my amazon cart, feeling like royalty. Should I slow down? Ummm...NOPE! I buy the items. Immediately my phone screen switches to a incoming call. Absentmindedly, I answer, too distracted by cyber shopping to read the caller ID.

"Sam, leave me alone."

"I'm tracking you." A deep voice threatens.

My eyes widen, I hang up fast. I lock my phone, readying myself to throw it...shit, I don't have another backup! My phone rings again, causing me to jump off the bed. I let it ring. Thinking. Oh, fuck, now what smart ass? I'm going to jail na. No, I'm too queen for that. I fight my fear and answer the call. "Okay, I'll stop now."

A long pause from the other end makes me uneasy. As if a monster was listening. My neck trickles with chilly bumps. "No! You don't walk away, asshole! I have your address!"

"Yeah? Well, fuck you! You pussy ass motherfucker!"

The guy exhales longingly. "It's your funeral." He hangs up.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 2018©️

PART ONE

My phone pings atop a kitchen's counter.

Text: What the fuck you mean you don't have it yet?😡

I spill milk as I lean over to read the new text.

Who is this?? I ask the random number contact in my messenger.

Just delete...

no, say, "you have the wrong number 👋🏻 "

No, just leave it alone.

I continue eating my bowl of Lucky Charms. I liked to have the marshmallows outnumber the cereal. I always pluck out the cereal for a bit before being satisfied. I devour the bowl of cereal like the damn hungry hulk. When done, I tilt the bowl and sip the milk. Fruity milk. While gulping it down, another buzzing noise comes from my phone.

Text: Use this card: 5891 5200 6731 7509, get the shit!

I lean over yet again to read the text.

Ooo, money! Stupid ass! I'm gonna wring you dry, bissh!

I grab my phone off the counter and go to IMessage. I copy the numbers to my clipboard, then export it to my notepad app.

This is club money 🙌🏼

.....

PLAY MUSIC

At a bumping, flashing club, I order a round of drinks for myself and my friend...who I once dated. Sam.

"So the motherfucker texts their card number, you should have seen my face! BISSHHH!!!"

"Was it a guy?" I hear a bit of shielded jealousy in his tone.

"I don't even know." The bartender hands us glasses of vodka mixed with orange juice. I down mine in five seconds and slide the glass away with a cockiness. "Thank yoooouuuuuu for putting this on tab! Next time I'm gonna tip you big."(With my new card, of course). I wink at the skinny emo kid who just shrugs before going to serve others. I slide from the barstool and go to the dance floor, hopping like a crazed bunny to bass-filled music. Once in a wavering crowd, I twerk to the rhythm. "Bitch, you gotta drive. I'm drunk!" My cut up, midnight shirt swings, my flawless lace wig bounces. I knew my tiny ass was snatched in these black skinny jeans I had on. I catch a few hoes looking as I work my hips.

"Don't try to spend anything off the card!" Sam, the buzzkill, warns in a shout over the ever-rising music.

I roll my eyes. "Or what?!"

"Or, you'll probably get tracked and go to jail!"

I stop dancing, feeling deflated from his serious mood. I turn to Sam, the only one not dancing. "Fuck off, why ya mad? You can use the card too! We can go shopping! And–"

"You don't even know how much money is on there!"

"YES, I DO! $10,000 HOE!" I clap my hands with each word.

Sam gives me a baffled look, ready to question how I knew this information. "How-"

I cut him off. "Google. Google is god." A buzz vibrates the inside of my skinny jeans, shaking my skin. I jam my hand into a tight pocket that holds my phone, struggling to get enough wiggle room to even take it out. I strain my fingers for a bit before retrieving my phone. Damn tight pants...

Now under neon lights, I read a text on my lock screen while swaying to the hype music. "Come here, look look look!!" I exclaim, dying in laughter and waving Sam closer. He inches over to see what I wanted.

Text: Fuck you, I'm tracking your phone 🔪

"HAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAA!" I bellowed over the music.

Reply: Imma just get another 😛

Sam disapproves of my text, huffing, he tries to swipe the phone from my hand. But when I'm this lit, my grip is like glue. "Uh uh, stop!" I smell alcohol on my breath and feel the drinks doing their work. The room goes spinny.

"How much did you spend?!" He hisses at me, coming a little too close to my face. "This is dangerous!"

I huff, then blow raspberries at him before power walking to the restroom. With each step I take through close-knitted partiers, I feel Sam tailing after me.

In an untidy restroom, with tissues and wrappers all over the floor, I enter a stall and drop my phone in the toilet. I flush it and watch it whirlpool around the bowl. Illuminating the bowl with its white light. My eyes dart to my wrist, where I written the card number in pen. I smirk, then turn to Sam, raising my shoulders rhythmically to the booming, muffled beat outside. "Solved!"

....

NEXT DAY

I live in New York...that must sound appealing, but trust me, it isn't. I fucking hate it. The city is too fucking crowded, full of rats and trash, smells like unwashed bodies, shit, and piss. It also gets way too cold. I should move, but it's human to stay put. I work at Forever 21. I must say I prefer the fast pace over a slow job that weighs on the brain. Benefits of working in a mall: 🤑 everything looks good on you in your mind, so you buy the hell out of shit. Swiper, yes, swiper 🦊.

My booted feet stomp through five inches of snow, downtown, where millions of people smell their own funk and lose their right to personal space.

Crossing times square, I eye a car, a yellow Kia parked on the busy curb, my Uber. I don't want to walk the whole way to work. But, like many, I need to cut costs, even if I have $10,000 that doesn't mean I can't be a penny pincher. Bitter coldness whacks my face and my cheap wig as I stroll a stamped of people, all making their way to work through thick, snow flurries. I get shoved and nearly knocked down, but that's New York. Deal with it. I sniffle, feeling a slight throb of an oncoming headache. Fuck, come on, aspirin, save me! It's too early for this. I dip out of the way of elbows and fast-moving feet, racing to an opening.

I take a backup phone out of my puffy purple coat...bless me for being smart to have two phones. Everything from the one I drowned is backed up on it too. My Spotify playlists especially. I place in my headphones and play Nicki's Stupid Hoe. I open safari and view my amazon cart, where a new phone case, rose gold, boots with heels, and a new wig, short, black with caramel ombré highlights: a Yolo shirt, and charcoal clay masks. The total is $500. I press the one-click buy now button.

At work, I ring up customers who pile clothes upon clothes onto the counter. A fifty percent off sale is going on, so adults and teenagers grab up everything from perfume, oversized shirts, dresses, shoes, jewelry, underwear and graphic tees. Women usually come for jewelry and shoes, men for coats, watches, or jackets, today that norm was out the window. Everything hit the counter—scan, scan, scan. The register beeps as I power items across the conveyer belt.

"That'll be $75.80." A woman rummages in her bag, striking my nerve. You know ya gonna need to pay, why wait to look for your card now?? My sight ventures to the windows of the store, outside to crowds of people passing or entering other outlets. My gaze focuses on shiny floors and colorful mannequin displays while the lady goes on digging for her card.

On my break, I add random stuff to my cart, a face laser mask and a water flosser; then, I check out—$ 350. In the break room, I munch on a KitKat and Flamin Hots, junk for brunch, as I sit and browse amazon. "Heyy, Chris!" A girl's voice catches my attention.

"Oh, heyy," I reply half-heartedly to Jasmine, an ombre haired, light eyed hot girl. Jasmine here thinks I like her, even though I show no signs of it. She's under the spell that I'm bisexual and won't stop flirting. I'm not even gonna get into what happened between us...just know we used to be tight. "WE ARE NEVER EVER EVER GETTING TOGETHER!" I sing cleverly while I search up vegan yoga mats.

"I like that song too." She scoots a chair beside me. I look ahead at the door with a deadpan expression. Really, girl?? "Whatcha doing?" She asks all perky, her tone medium and soothing.

"Looking up dicks." I switch over to my google tab and show her my search page from last night. Big dicks, to be exact. "Hmmm, mmmm, that's all I want in life." I hint heavily. "Gotta go, byyyyeeeeeeeeee." I didn't really have to go I had five minutes left on lunch, I just needed to make a statement, and a sudden exit always works. Back in the store, a new round of customers circulate, sorting through racks and heading to dressing rooms. I center my badge on a long sleeve pull over jacket. My hoeless feet step on the floor. This causes some of the customers to stare at my socks, confused as to where my shoes were. "I'm ready for my picture." I pose dramatically, placing my hands on my hips.

"CHRIS!" I hear my boss yell. Oh, my fucking god. "Put on your damn shoes!" A fat ass bitch scolds, observing my fluffy, pink socks with an evil eye. My hand flips my long hair back. My boss hides a look of disgust as she approaches me; I see it pinching at the side of her mouth. The Bitch hates anything that isn't straight: "Oh, I'm fine with those kinds of people." She legit said this before: "those kinds of people." Da fuck 💁🏻♀️

"I'm still on break, you know I have a condition, it's either you want a smelly store or you let me let em breathe." She fights so hard not to glare and fire me on the spot, knowing if she did, there would be a lawsuit bigger than her house. "Thank yooou!" I stroll behind my register and lean onto the counter. Damn, I left my snacks. Ugggghhhhhh, I don't wanna walk back. It's so...so far away. Instead, I get on my phone, hiding it below the register, so I don't get caught. The cashier beside me, bucktooth Trisha, peeks over with her never closing mouth. This hoe is just waiting to see a dick pic so she could tell the boss.....like a Hermione with a spy complex.

I receive a mail notification from the balance website about the funds of the card; I didn't care to read the name of the company. All I wanted to read was the body of the email. I click on the notification and read: your balance is $9,150.

...

In my bed, I order jeans, shirts, sexy underwear, jackets, and eyeliner. My cart equals out to $200 worth of items. Thank you, hack site! Just by entering the number into the toolbar of the website. I got the CVV, 734, and the expiration date 04/2021. I also had the routing and account number, all for the cost of a $60 service fee. I order the random shit in my amazon cart, feeling like royalty. Should I slow down? Ummm...NOPE! I buy the items. Immediately my phone screen switches to a incoming call. Absentmindedly, I answer, too distracted by cyber shopping to read the caller ID.

"Sam, leave me alone."

"I'm tracking you." A deep voice threatens.

My eyes widen, I hang up fast. I lock my phone, readying myself to throw it...shit, I don't have another backup! My phone rings again, causing me to jump off the bed. I let it ring. Thinking. Oh, fuck, now what smart ass? I'm going to jail na. No, I'm too queen for that. I fight my fear and answer the call. "Okay, I'll stop now."

A long pause from the other end makes me uneasy. As if a monster was listening. My neck trickles with chilly bumps. "No! You don't walk away, asshole! I have your address!"

"Yeah? Well, fuck you! You pussy ass motherfucker!"

The guy exhales longingly. "It's your funeral." He hangs up.

I rush to a green apple and dark wood kitchen, feeling my pounding heartbeat. I grab a used pot from the cluttered sink, and kneel on the floor, having a sentimental struggle with my phone. "Fuck! " I grunt, taking in a shuddering breath, before placing my phone on the floor and using the pot in my other hand to demolish it. I bang the screen in five times, hearing the glass shatter, seeing the metal under-workings of the screen.

I then run to my bathroom, another junk area with clothes and shoes over the floor. I open the medicine cabinet and get a pink makeup bag out. Contour bish! Here's the thing about me...I'm a boy with a baby face and a small Adam's apple, so when I do my shit, I legit look like a girl. I can even change my voice to sound like one. Desperate times cause for desperate measures. The card guy wouldn't suspect that because he heard a guy's voice on the phone.

I need to refine my nose and cheeks to look sharp but soft, not too harsh. I don't want to look like a drag queen. IT'S TRICK A BITCH DAY. I open my MAC concealer and foundation, which were running low, and add the substances to my face thoroughly, using a beauty blender. Foundation first, then concealer under my eyes, in the middle of my eyebrows and around my nose. I blend the makeup evenly before opening a contour stick of a darker shade. Down my cheekbones, over my temples, under my chin, and a light amount on my nose. Whew, being a girl is complicated!

Lastly, I blend my skin to literal perfection and add eyeliner and red lipstick. My eyebrows are naturally thick and full, so all I used was a trimmer for the wild hairs. I choose a wig from one of my stand displays in my light green bedroom, which, of course, is junky. I pick out an all-black, sleek, long and flowy wig. Oh fuck, I won't be able to get the stuff I ordered. I frown as I use a pin-headed brush on the wig. Damn...maybe it won't arrive until Monday

I shake away the thought of not being able to enjoy pampering myself and proceed to the bathroom to place on the wig. I use a wig cap and an elastic band that is sowed on the inside for a secure hold. I place the unit on my head, adding powder to the parting.

In my closet, I take out gray boots, a blue sweater, and dark leggings. Before putting on the leggings, I tuck my tiny wee wee, using Trinity Taylor, ball in, clear duct tape, and push back. I strap silicone breasts to my chest, an adhesive item that blends with my skin and have some weight. Adding a girdle to give me a girly shape before crawling into a purple bra and the sweater. I have a stomach, so.... squeeze that fat all the way in, hoe. I put my hair in a high knot and make to get my phone...but pause and remind myself that I broke it.

I head to the door, about to leave out. But MY dumb ass runs back to get my makeup bag 🤦🏻♀️stupid. I take a long look at my small, carpeted, pack-rat apartment. My heart goes weak. I saved up months, pinched dollar by dollar, living off noodles, crackers, and baloney to afford this place. It may be super untidy, but it is mine...or was mine. I feel tears coming on. All my damn clothes are here—all of my bad hookups. Good sex. My shoe collection, pretty ass dresses too. I give a sweeping, savoring look to the apartment, almost crying. I jerk open the front door angrily and slam it behind me, boxing away my home.

My feet descend a long stairway to a snowy parking lot. The sky is cloudy; chilly wind blows my hair like crazy. Shivering, I wait for the light to cross the street to a bus stop. I need to get away from this ugly ass card guy. How did he even get my number? Was Sam right about me being tracked? The card number on my wrist was fading, but I knew it by heart. As I wait for traffic to pass, a nice car turns into my apartment's parking lot. A shiny, blue McLaren P1 Coupe. "Damn..." My eyes glue to it in envy. "Damn..." I say again when I see the driver.

This dude looked like a bodybuilder on steroids, about in his 30's, early or late I couldn't tell. His hair black and cut short, close to a fade, nicely textured. His beard well-groomed and appeared so soft. The hottie spots that I'm staring. I divert my gaze quick. The car slowly pulls into the lot, its driver side window rolls down. My stupid ass stays frozen in place like a robot. I have the light to cross now, but I simply can't move. The driver's gaze make my lips sizzle.

"Hey, you need to get warm?" he asks provocative...my penis comes alive, even tucked, it jerks. I check myself out in the car's reflection. I look girly. Good. That gave me enough confidence to engage. I examine his classic face. My eyes carry out a mission of their own, sizing up his bulging muscles. I approach close enough to the car to see his waist, where I spot huge thighs. Hmm, daddy. I try judging how big he could be down there. "You want a taste, baby?" He bites his lip.

I giggle like a schoolgirl and lighten my voice. "I would, but I got a boyfriend and he's a nut case, so...."

"He doesn't have to know." I look to his face, noticing that his eyes are golden and fierce. He smirks flirtatiously then suddenly becomes serious. "You shouldn't be out looking like this; you'll get raped."

My eyes widen...what...what did he just say?!! I back away from the car. A defensive mode overcomes me. I try to cross the street, but the light is green, and cars zoom past. I couldn't cross. So I hurry down the sidewalk like a frantic penguin. I feel him watching me; my skin goes into a hot throb. I glance back as I walk away, becoming more alert by the second. His car is now parked in the lot, he exits it, now I notice his height, 6'5, or 6'4.

I spy on him, slowing my walk pace. He's still hot...just a bit off. Who just brings up rape like that?? As I watch him further, I feel my drive set its gear into horny and bothered. How he walked was even hot, powerful, I feel my bones go skittish when he nears a complex building. Something is wrong. Where is he going? I watch as the driver heads up the stairs to my unit. My face goes numb and prickly when he kicks in my apartment's door.

...

By the time I get to Sam's place, it's pouring down cold rain...great there were already twelve inches of snow. Now there is a mushy, load of white shit on the ground. I have no umbrella, so I take off my sweater and use it as one. I'm not messing up this wig or my makeup bag! I run up a flight of stairs to his apartment: 301. My hands begin banging on the door. The cold wind blows my wig, causing clunks of hair to come undone from the top knot, throwing it all crazy over my head. I push the hair behind my ears, dropping my makeup bag in a puddle of water. Great....just great. The door opens. "About time! I'm drowning out here!!" I swoop up my makeup bag up from the ground and toss it on the welcome mat inside.

"Chris?" He says, stunned at my visit. I push my damp hair back, passing him and throwing my soaked sweater out on the porch; it makes a wet plopping sound when it hits the brick foundation. I shut the door, feeling drips of water run down the bare part of my chest that the garment showed, squeezing my breasts. "You look so–"

He was about to compliment me, his eyes in a daze, but I cut him off. "I'm hiding out from that card guy. He found out where I live."

Sam slaps a hand to his forehead. "See! I told you, didn't I? You should've listened and stopped! Have you called the cops?"

"No..." I walk to a wall mirror in his clean dining room, wiping away runny eyeliner from around my dark brown eyes.

"Why not?" He crosses his toned arms and puts on a stern face.

"Cause I didn't." I avoid his eyes, looking around the uppity apartment instead. He was too clean, my place looked like a crackhouse and his like a nun's sanctuary. "I did see him, though. I could call," I inform Sam. "Despite being a psycho, he's hot."

"So, you talked to him?!" Sam gives a harsh chuckle.

"Yeah...but in my girl voice tho. He had no idea, so chill. Do you have an umbrella? I need to buy a new phone."

"Umm, yeah, I do." He sighs behind me.

"I need a shirt too."

Sam leaves to a hall on the left, going to his bedroom. I was about to follow him, but I stop myself. That's not a good idea. I fix my makeup instead, using my hands to pat it; my hair was now wet and wavy, bushy too. I let it down from the knot; it flows past my shoulders. I kind of like the look; it has a model from the 80's type of vibe. Big puffy, blown-out glamorous hair, all I need is glitter to complete the look.

Sam comes back and hands me an over-sized graphic tee of Wonder Woman. He's taller than me. Think Captain America and Black Widow. We had close to that kind of size difference. I'm not juicier than Nat, tho. Queen. "Cool, thanks." I put on the shirt; Sam grabs an umbrella hanging beside the door. "Keys?" As I smooth out the shirt, I head to the door and take the umbrella from him and grip the doorknob.

"You're going out by yourself?" Concern drowns his voice.

"Yeah."

His body tenses up. "What if you were followed?"

"I didn't see a car," I reply stubbornly.

"I'll come with you, just in case." He takes a coat from a side closet.

"You mean in case guys hit on me?" I tease. I look down at his hands as he separates what I realize are two black coats. He drapes one around me. I blush when I feel the warmth of his hands on my shoulders...dick be calm and carry on. I clear my throat to break the scolding heat building between us. "Thanks." Rain pounds the ceiling of the apartment for a few seconds. Sam nods and grins crookedly. I pull on the hood of the coat and zip up. His dark green eyes lock on my brown ones. The sensation of butterflies tingles my spine and lips, my mouth waters, forcing me to swallow. "Yeah, let's go."

....

In a semi-full Walmart, I groove to throwback Thursday songs. Lip syncing the lyrics of "Umbrella" by Rihanna with much star power. I strut with the buggy, performing ballet twirls and kicks, perfectly on cue with the beat. Sam giggles adorably as I catwalk down each aisle. "You're insane."

"I knoooowwww." I model down the hygiene aisle throwing deodorant and razors into the buggy as if playing basketball. In the next aisle, I toss in body wash and shampoo. "We need to get a bunch of shit before this card gets canceled." I sprint to the face soap ai1sle and fill my arms up with Biore products. I wobble back to the buggy, my arms outstretched like an eagle with all the items: face scrubs, nose strips, cleansers, and lotions.

After getting hella shit from the hygiene area, to the graphic tee aisle I go! The girls one. I'm small, okay? "I like that one." Sam points at an artsy one with a blue moon on a pale environment. At the bottom, it reads BREATHE.

"Hmm, yea, it's cool." I grab it and toss it into the cart. "Get you some stuff, come on with ya big ass you can't fit anything over here."

"I'm good."

I put my hands on my hips. "It's free money...like duh get shit."

"Chris–"

"Don't blow me." I take the buggy and ride it away from him, lifting my shoes onto the bar on the bottom. The buggy wheels streak on mucked up floors. I kick to add more speed. A light drift hits my face, cooling my skin. I smile like a badass kid, ignoring judgmental looks from customers. I turn the corner onto the men's aisle and halt the buggy like a race car. A group of three guys stop at the sound of the buggy's squeaking. I saved them from getting knocked the fuck out! I laugh, that short anxious laugh? Yeah, that one. My hair falls onto my face as I hop down from the cart...again, feeling like an 80's diva. "My bad," I say lightly.

One of them eyes my boobs through the big shirt I have on. I look down, oh shit, they're all ugly, and ugly guys don't stop. Each one is basic looking, two were out of shape, and one was slim. The heavyset ones were total gamers. Their dungeons and dragons t-shirts gave that away. They were blonde and brown-haired with loads of acne, and a cart of snacks and soda. The slim one was the best option if I had to choose between them, a cute yet simple blonde guy, much like Austin Ames from A Cinderella Story. Despite that, I wasn't interested in hooking up in Walmart. I search around desperately, badly in need of an ex machina.

"Hey," one of them says. "You here by yourself?"

This shocks me. They seem like the type who only had the guts to try to flirt with a girl through a dating app. You know the kind that is out of your league yet still hits up your DM's.

I put on my girly voice. "No, I'm here with my boyfriend." As if sensing my need of rescuing, from behind, Sam turns the corner. I cringe at the awkward stare he gives the guys. A stupid macho claim. Ugh...guys. Plus, we're over as a couple, so he needs to dial it back. I slyly point to my side, playing along. Sam stands by my side, wrapping an arm around the small of my back, letting his fingers rest on the waistband of my leggings. He tugs me closer. Okay, too much man...chill. "Come on, babe." I poke in the cheesiest tone ever. Sam gets all cocky at the saying of "babe.", I spot his posture strengthen. Oh shit, I milked the cow for sure; now I need to fix it; if not, Sam will bring this hiccup to light in the car. I roll the buggy forward, passing the guys, giving a wink to the best looking one. This will shut Sam down. I lead the buggy to the men's area, taking his hand from my side. A straight-up rip off the band-aid move.

Sam places his hands in his pocket as a recovery. "Did you have to wink?" I detect irritation in his voice.

"One of them was cute."

The last things to hit the buggy were more graphic tees, headphones, an iPhone, pizza, Little Debby snacks, cheese puffs, cookie dough ice cream, and wine coolers. Junk errday bish. At the self-checkout line, Sam and I ring up the food, swiping it over the red light and hearing the excessive beeping. I stop halfway and flag down a cashier. "Umm, I forgot my card, so can I just put in the information?"

The cashier thinks on it for a moment, a little old lady. "I don't think that's allowed, miss."

"I'll get it. Don't worry, thank you anyway." Sam takes out his wallet and pulls out a credit card. The cashier nods apologetically and continues to patrol the area, going away from us and surveying other customers who use the self-scan.

"Why did you do that?! I can get this off the card."

"You said he found out where you lived; he most likely has a tracker for whenever you use it."

"This is gonna be too much money for you to spend." I sulk, straining my neck back to stare up at his tall ass. Sam takes a long look at me, either fed up with my stubbornness or secretly adoring it. I couldn't tell. "This is Walmart; once he gets in here, it'll be too many suspects. I'm using it." I scan the last item from the cart. "I'll write a check." That site gave me the routing and account information, so I could.

"Chris, don't!"

...

Sam's three girlfriends were over for their routine dirty book Thursday, reading Fifty Shades Of Grey. I only watched the movies and skipped all the dialogue to the sex. The sex that was blah and uninteresting, but I had no problem jerking off tho. I wonder if Christian is bi? We have the same name, so...maybe in an alternate universe. In a black and white accented living room, I hand out fruity wine coolers to the guests and take a seat down on a leather sofa, pretending to read my copy of the book. I scan the page for dick, pussy, or fuck, and saw it nowhere and lost interest immediately. This is weak. I finish drinking my second wine cooler, tapping my feet to the music. That's What I Like by Bruno Mars.

"From his inside jacket pocket, he produces a ring and gazes up at me, his eyes bright gray and raw, full of emotion. Anastasia Steele, I love you. I want to love, cherish, and protect you for the rest of my life. Be mine. Always. Share my life with me. Marry me." One of the girls reads in a Shakespearean impression...I smile cutely, not remembering her name, she was a goofy kind of pretty, with pink hair and glasses. Adorkable, if you will, the other two were basic, black haired chicks with attitudes. These girls were Sam's playthings. Oh, I forgot to mention that he is bisexual and girls are an every changing habit of his. I hate keeping up with the new batch of girls he has every few months. It may just be a flavor thing; whenever I ask about it, he just says he likes variety. Honestly, Sam is a thot.

My mind begs to leave and free myself of boredom.

YAWN. I glance over at Sam and nod towards a pure black kitchen. He follows my gaze, then looks back at me, his green eyes clicking with my signal and reading my non-verbal request. "I'll be right back," Sam tells the girls, sitting down his book on the sofa before getting up. The pink haired one responds with a nonchalant grin, but the other two glare at me as I stood, judging my bare legs under the big t-shirt. This is why I don't come around his toys...unneeded drama.

Into the kitchen, we go. "This is boring; I don't read unless it's work related."

He snorts at this. "What do you want me to do?"

"Kick them out," I say with a straight face and a no joke policy.

He laughs on, doing that thing where one hand holds his stomach. Aww, so cute, my mind goes goo goo. "Wow, just cause you're bored, Chris?" Sam cuts his laughter short when I mean mug him. "Sorry." He clears his throat. "Well, you can hang in my room."

I get salty. I don't wanna be in a room all by myself, especially his room. Unfortunately, this was my only option of freedom from the bitches, excluding the pink haired one. I liked her. "FINE!!" I begin to walk away but end up halting and spotting a box of strawberry shortcakes in an opened cabinet. I look slyly back at Sam, daringly, before snatching the box and speeding off in the big, flowy shirt.

I didn't want to go in his room because I'd fall asleep and we'd end up snoozing off together and dot, dot, dot. NOPE, Not happening again! I'm gonna sleep on the couch, and that's final. He cheated on me three months into our "serious" relationship. Just because I was "working" too much. We decided to remain friends, though, because we had a lot in common and built up our bond for years. Our connection just wasn't about being attracted to the same sex, but about being crazy about ice skating and Captain America...oh, and George Michael too.

I lay on his bed, tucking a few pillows between my arms—everything smells of cologne, menthol and apple. A too familiar scent. Oh god, that smell... I think back to hugging Sam, to my nose taking in the scent of his bare neck on a summer night, near a shimmering lake. To my kisses tasting the menthol and apple. My tongue savoring it. Change the subject, CHANGE THE SUBJECT!!! 😖

My mind demands bitterly.

In the black and white decorated room, I focus on the Walmart bags on his dresser. I get up from the bed and wiggle out and unbox the newly bought iPhone. I can set this up, that'll take my mind off of the past. I hum Rise by Selena, as I start up the device. I go to Sam's computer desk, to a MAC, and power it on, taking a seat at a bowl-like swerve chair. I swear he's a fucking show off, get a regular chair 🙄

Music bumps from outside the room, I roll my eyes at the high pitch giggles...overly done giggles. Basic bitches always do too much. The sound annoys me; my feet start tapping. I like living alone, in peace, my semi-introvert ass. Well, not entirely in peace, I talk a lot to no one in particular...to myself. But I ain't a crazy bissh!

I log into Sam's computer and type in the password: Sam007*. Then, plug the phone into a connected USB. When the phone loads and welcomes me, I complete the new phone boot up info, then connect to the WIFI using the same password, The first thing I do is pull up the hack card website. I type in the numbers I memorized. My mouth drops at the current balance. $1,000,000.

......

I end up daydreaming about what I could do with a million dollars, while the party booms on outside Sam's bedroom. The room contradicts his party nights. It's a harsh and mature theme of black and white. With this money, I could buy a downtown luxury high rise full of windows, near water, and paint it pastel(happy colors to match my behavior). Sam has nothing colorful around, not even knick-knacks nor body was. When we met at TGI Friday's so many summers ago, I didn't want to pursue him because I thought he was straight. He really surprised me.

I pace the room feeling tipsy and end up pausing and crack up like a hyena at a picture on Sam's dresser. A picture of him as a kid, he had to be about seven at a Halloween party, dressed as a yellow ice cream cone. I grin, snorting goofily. He was a beautiful little boy and an even more beautiful man. I'm surprised his mother didn't sign him up for modeling, especially with those green eyes that burned, and fine face with detailed cheeks. My fat cheeks had a bare minimum structure; you have to really look to spot the lines. Sam also has plump lips, but mines are bigger. He has dark, short hair, a statuesque nose, and shocking green eyes. I mean, a stop in place and stare, shocking. A dazzling smile, perfect teeth...dimples too. God...I haven't thought this much about him for seven months now.

I hear the music turn off from beyond the door. I check the time on my phone—11:00 pm. Muffled voices speak, sounding as if they were saying partings. Laughter echos the hallway. The sound of smooching weighs down on my nerves. I picture Sam kissing each of his girls goodnight before closing the front door. The sound of footsteps near the bedroom door, the knob twists, then it opens slowly. Sam quietly pokes his head in. "Oh, you're still up?"

"Yep."

"Don't you have work?" He steps into the room. He spots me lose my balance and his eyebrows furrow. "No more drinking." He says as he crosses his muscular arms.

I goofily sway over to him, feeling euphoric about being a millionaire, and in great need of celebration. "Or what?" My hand grips around his dick. His eyes spark before lowering to my hand on his crotch. He lets out a grunt as I tighten my grip. "Like I thought..." I kneel to unzip and pull down his pants. As I pull down his boxers, I stare up at him from a medium length circumcised dick...holding it in my hand.

He closes his eyes, and his mouth parts, letting out an airy moan.

I lick the sides of his tower, my mouth watering. My tongue moistens it, trailing back and forth. I groan as he bites his lip. I lick around his eggplant a bit longer, then place his tip in my mouth. Then suck, tap, lick, rotate, circle, peck, bite, and tongue stroke. "AHH~!" He gasps and grabs the back of my head, thrusting it forward. Sam backs up against the door and leans his head against it, moaning and hyperventilating. "Damn...go harder!"

You ain't gotta tell me twice.

I take things hardcore, so hard that the skin of his dick taps the back of my throat. I feel his vein against my tongue: so smooth and full of cum, as it sleeks my inner mouth. Due to my firm head strokes, Sam's waist bangs the door, making the knob clang. I push him deeper and harder into my mouth; gagging, hacking on his load. He explodes from his bone straight cock. I slide my lips over his dick, collecting the sweet. "Fuck!" He strains his neck upwards.

"Hmmm..." I sing as I swallow his cake mix—gulping, swallowing the sweetness. I lick him clean. I then suck him so hard that I taste a bit of blood. Deep-throating him, feeling his member passing my uvula. I curve my tongue around his cock. As I keep a steady pace, Sam grips at the wood of the door, clawing it, moaning louder, longer, and erratically. Loud enough that the neighbors heard. I suck his dick until he comes again, like a waterfall. "FUCK, AHHHH!!", this time he yells like a caveman; wildly, and untamed. His nails clutch at the door's wood, which now holds scratch marks. Sam catches his breath through his teeth, staring down at me, his eyes heavy with lust.

I wipe the edges of my mouth, satisfied with my celebration.

Sunlight turns the inside of my eyelids orange, and Sam's cologne stains my lungs. I lie in bed, feeling heavy arms around my waist. Warm and firm. I feel his breaths brush my nose, tickling my skin. I open my eyes and see Sam watching me. "Hey," he says lightly, his lips puckered.

"Hey," I say slowly.

"I forgot how wild you slept..." I look down at my legs, which are wide apart, hogging most of the bed. How did he sleep comfortably? "You kicked me a few times, too."

My eyes focus on his lips...should I kiss him? I didn't want to tho...but things are all romantic and shit. Idk...I don't fucking know. Well...I guess since the money situation has me all feisty, why not let this run its course? Plus he has no shirt on...hmmm....he knows what he's doing.

My eyes glue to his hairy chest, his toned arms, and a six-pack. Then to his green eyes... which are so vulnerable right now. Aww. Omg, no!! Stop! Stop it! I try to control my body from interacting with his, but my thoughts lose that battle quickly. My hands run over his stomach, feeling the bumps of his pack, and his cozy skin.

Heat hisses from the vents above us, reaching down and blowing our hair like a gust of wind. I keep my eyes were my hands are, kind of afraid to look up at his spelled eyes. To see how I bewitched him. The heat warms my cheeks and heats the smell of my foundation on them. My eyes go alert. "Damn it! I slept in makeup." I bounce from the bed, hurrying to a bathroom connected to his room, to view my skin in a mirror. A cakey, inflamed mess. "Fucccckkkkk me, pores!" I groan. "Damn it!" Sam gets out of bed. "You don't have an exfoliating scrub, do you?"

"Umm..." he approaches the bathroom, turns sideways to get past me, and opens a draw on a black sink. "Yeah, you left this one when you moved out." He hands me a cucumber scrub.

"Good thing I did."

"Moved out?" He asks, a little confused and slightly hurt.

"No, idiot, good thing I left it; my pores are so...ughhh!"

Sam takes relief in this, his puzzled face relaxes. He eyes me closely. "Hey....so," he begins.

"So what?" I switch on the faucet, pull my hair back, tying it into a knot, and damp my face with water before applying the product. I rub the green liquid over my skin.

"Are you gonna move back in now?"

I pause washing my face and share eye contact with him. His lovey dovey stare was slightly gone. Slightly. "I don't think you want me to. If you did, you would've fucked me last night. You left me clothed," I jab.

"You were drunk...if it weren't for that, I would have." He flirts, watching me as I go back to scrubbing my face. Sam gets serious, frowning his forehead and wearing his heart in his eyes. "Move back in with me."

I shiver at the gaze he gives me, ready to melt from the sleepy, raspy voice that dragged his tone as he said the words. I fight my emotions and my burning veins and focus on cleaning my face, staring down at the sink. Not again, I can't do that again, not after he cheated. Don't be stupid. Don't give in. "I'm not repeating the past, you were a horrible boyfriend, but you're a good friend...last night was just a means of celebration. I'll tell you why in a bit." I wash my face, avoiding eye contact with a deflated man, who's appearance would just make me feel like a piece of shit. Don't look at him just yet; his puppy dog expression will weaken me. I rinse off the product for another minute, with cool water, before drying my face with a piece of tissue. Sam was still silent, possibly recuperating from his failed attempt. "A million fucking dollars is on the card."

He raises both eyebrows and speaks with a cautious tone. "This sounds...this sounds like a setup. He tracked you, then all of a sudden there's more money on the card? Please just leave this alone."

"No, do you know how fucking rare this is? For a low-class asshole like me...like us to have this kind of money just pop up?? No, I'm not leaving it alone."

"Us?" Sam takes a towel from a wall rack and wipes my face of the areas I missed: the sides of my chin and around my earlobes held droopy product. He has to bend a bit to reach my face. "So.. we're not together, right?"

Ugh, he so fucking annoying right now! Did he not listen to what I said about not repeating history?? "No, but we can finally travel, we can be Bonnie and Clyde, without the death factor. Let's just have fun and spend money and flick off the system. I can probably even find someone to transfer the money Breaking Bad style." I cock an eyebrow.

Sam gives me a stern look, his lips tight, the skin around the corners of his eyes creasing. "First, you need to get this person's name before you hack them and see if the money is illegal or not..."

....

At a public library, I sit slurping on a Strawberry Frappuccino, ditching work because I got money. People scatter into the building, older couples, and some young adults, but in very few amounts. I mean...it is 9 am. I drink and continue checking my emails for the hack site. So much spam had built up in my inbox. I didn't want to find the site on my new phone, because shit is always monitored...fuck you government!

So I decided to go more low key with asking the hackers to help clear out the card. I scroll my email, seeing:

"You won a new car! "

"Hello, do you remember me? "

And hormone pill ads, among the heap of junk mail.

My mind tries to remember the name of the original site I used...with no luck. My fingers tuck the black wig I have on, behind both of my ears. While doing this, I spy a guy eyeing me from my peripheral, standing near bookcases. This dude was at least 60. Ew. My outfit wasn't even that sexy; why is he looking? Maybe my graphic T is a dick magnet 🤨

I scroll on my Gmail: get your dream dick, grow dick size emails. Mine is good; I like my size...easier to conceal. I go through my sent messages and locate the site I'd forgotten, having cleared my phone's history out of paranoia. Hack bait diamond, hmm no wonder I didn't memorize it. Get a new name. I minimize the browser, click the email, and scroll to the bottom of it. Feeling as if the mouse's roller sound was gonna get me caught. I find a link to the site. Success!

A group of college students enter the library in a playful mood, pushing one another and laughing obnoxiously. It's too early for all that...A dark red web page dials up on the screen with bold white intro words: We Have Your Back When You Need A Hack. I bypass the card number input tab beneath the slogan, and click on a contact link, which prompts me to a compose email screen:

To:HackBaitDiamond10@gmail.com

Subject: Help needed

I have money that needs transferring off of a card I don't own. Is this something your service can provide help with?

This is my email: ChrisDaBoss@gmail.com.

SWOOSH. SENT.

A message sent notification pops up. I jump up as if the cops were coming right this instant, feeling adrenaline rush over me like ice water. Unable to feel my limbs but able to know that my heart is pumping. "Runaway, run away!" I whisper harshly, picking up my purse, and hustling to the exit, double doors at the front of the library. RUN THE FUCK AWAY! Like my dumbass does a lot, I forgot to do something simple...exit out the illegal website...and sign out of my email. When I turn to fix these mistakes, I spot the older man who was watching me earlier. Gray-haired and heavyset, the boomer snoops my computer screen, reading the contents of the website. Uh oh. I spin around and run out of the door like a racer, hackling like a witch. Run the fuck away, oh my guuddd!!!

"Miss?!" The man shouts as the door hits the frame behind me. Outside in the freezing cold, I hug myself for warmth, sprinting to a bus stop right at the corner of the street. I blend in with strangers who wait for a ride. I take my phone out of my crossbody bag and stare at it, so I don't seem suspect. My sigh peeks over and see the old man scanning the sidewalks, breathing out frost like a bull. A ding comes from my phone; a mail alert flashes on my screen. I unlock and tap the banner to view it:

From: HackBaitDiamond10@gmail.com

To: ChrisDaBoss@gmail.com

Subject: Verification

My team and I require proof of the funds. This is needed to verify that you are not a fed running a setup. This issue has forced us to flee and change our domain multiple times. So, please send the card number as proof. Once validated, the team will be able to assist you. We will, of course, need payment to proceed.

...

"So you snuck out?" Sam says when the apartment door closes behind me. He wasn't entirely wrong...I did wait until he went to piss to slip out the door. But...who was he, my dad?

"I can go places alone." I snap as I head in the direction of his voice. The kitchen. "Anyway, I got in contact with that site, but the thing is there's a...raaa." It dawns on me that he's making breakfast. Bacon, sausages, and eggs fry in pans on the stove....sizzling. French toast drifts from the oven. He hates cooking, he preferred takeout, yet he's doing it.....for me? Making the things I like? I smile a bit, ripping my eyes from the cooking food. Sam flips the meat and scrabbles the eggs simultaneously, using both hands like a chef. His veiny arms flexing. While I just do that irritating shy thing, where I lower my head and kick my foot forward.

"What's the thing?" He looks at me in curiosity.

"Um....in order to get the money hacked, I gotta provide proof first and then pay a team. I don't know how many are on this team. So...think up a plan, Sherlock."

"I'm just a genius now, huh?"

I walk and slide onto a counter's barstool and remove my crossbody bag. "Yeah, compared to me, you are." His dimples show in a laugh. "Please? I'm not about to share my money with these assholes, if it's even five of them on the team, that's thousands gone if not more." Sam uses silicone spatulas to turn over the bacon and eggs. Sizzling. The kitchen smells up like a barbecue. Sam places the utensils down aside the stove and begins pacing the room like the actual Sherlock. Brooding. "Say brain blast when you get it." I tease, but his concentration doesn't break; he's like the fucking thinking statute guy.

"You're getting a bit possessive, aren't you?" This catches me off guard; I get offended. "Look...my advice is the same, leave it alone. It's dirty money. The owner located your place, threatened to kill you, I mean how more illegal do you want it to get?"

"What do you want me to do...give up a million dollars?" I argue.

"I want to protect you...this is changing you for the worse and will end even bad if you keep at it. I thought you worked at 8 am, did you really quit a job you liked? Are you fucking thinking about spending illegal money for a living? Tracked money?!! Are you that gullible?!" He blows up, not filtering himself. "That is blood money or drug money, THINK BEFORE YOU ACT!!" He points out, pissed.

"Why can't you just support me? Especially after what you did?? You said something similar when I found out you were cheating, "don't act like a dumb ass, own up to it, you fucked up." You... hold this high ass pedestal you want me to live up too just because you do. WELL I'M NOT YOU!" I spit viciously.

"I don't want you to be..."

My hands shake uncontrollably. "Right, so you're just lecturing me for no damn reason, think smart, be smart, maybe I'm just not smart!"

"Baby..." Sam stops and corrects himself. "Chris, don't say that." He hesitantly walks to me, nearing closer to the bar's counter, and takes my hands in his. "You are smart...you're playing it close to the chest, you really are. You ditched your phones, left your apartment. If you did none of that you'd be locked up or worse. I'm sorry if I'm putting pressure on you. It's just the money is iffy, you might get hurt." Sam's voice falters sensitively.

I look away stubbornly, still pissed and unmoved by his sweet words. A burnt smell comes from the stove, along with fast sizzling. "The bacon is burning." I remove my hands from his and place them in my lap.

He cups my cheeks in his rough palms, I lower my eyes from his as Sam strokes my face gently. He lifts my chin and leans on the bar counter to make eye contact. Sam's pretty green eyes hold regret...and a strange kind of hurt that I didn't want to analyze, because it'll put me in a silly romance cage again. Not again.

He badly wants me back.

Sam doesn't hide his desperation. Right now, he resembles a puppy waiting for approval from their owner. Anxious and seemingly loyal. Seemingly. Aww. Fuck...I sigh weakly, eyeing his lips in what seems like slow motion. "It's your move." His thumb sweetly traces my full lips, my body's chemistry pulls towards his handsome face. Going under an enchantment. My lips part, my mouth waters, my face nears his. My hands wring around his wrists. So tempted, my heart so hungry.

A flashback stops my advance: a memory of crying in the dark, on my bed, swiping through our couple pictures on my phone. Struggling, wailing out sobs, and deleting the pictures in bulk. 538 photos.

My eyes go glossy. I push away from Sam, getting up from the barstool, and leave to the front door.

...

I'm confused; therefore, I have to be reckless too. I file onto a bus and take a seat in the back, watching the busy day outside the windows. Each stop slugs, wasting my time schedule of being at my apartment in fifteen minutes, more like an hour in this newly fallen snow. I left my bag and phone at Sam's place. Damn. Good thing my bus pass was in my back pocket. When my stop comes, I exit the bus, which pulls off, hissing and rumbling into the distance. I catch the light and power walk to my apartment building across the way, rubbing my cold hands together. I have no jacket on.

Smart.

Firstly, I want to get my mail. Secondly, what if the dude was staking out at my place? Thirdly...well I don't wanna start on thirdly. I round the building in search of the fancy car. There was no sign of it. Hmm...if it were me; I would have parked a few blocks away. I become lost in thought. I just need to hang out for about twenty minutes, that's when Sam will be at work. He's manager at Best Buy and will be working a 10-hour shift. I'll be alone so I could work out the: It's your move? "What did he mean by that?"

"Talking to yourself?" A familiar voice says...it was the card guy's voice. He must have just pulled up because he wasn't in the parking lot a few moments ago. I turn. He leans against his car in a fancy, designer coat. His eyes check me out, from my crotch to my sturdy fake boobs. "And again...you're by yourself." He flexes his jaws. Oh, Jesus. He's so smooth. A dilf if I ever did see one, a few gray hairs, an aged face, silky lips. No stop, he's after me, blow off steam with another guy, not him! Walk away.

"I can handle myself." I lighten my voice. ARE YOU CRAZY??!! I feel a battle within myself, I get you're hurt and confused, but why him?!!!

"So you can fight?" He straightens up then approaches me, my eyes widen and trail his full figure. He has big dick energy...it's all in his walk.

"Wow, you're really tall." I blush.

"I'm tall someplace else too, do you wanna see?" I lower my head bashfully, slyly eyeing his crotch again. I let my hair fall pass my cheeks, god wtf man, stick to the plan, head back to Sam's warm apartment in about twenty minutes. He observes me as I think.

"Yeah... I have a boyfriend remember I told you that?"

"He must not be satisfying you, you're blushing and honey....you keep looking." My temperature skyrockets and my throat tightens, his damn voice sends shivers down my spine. It was gruff and deep. The guy comes closer, resting the side of his face on mine. Ummm, RUN!!!! I feel his nose and breath caress my ear—Minty and warm. Out of the blue, his lips attack my neck, sucking and biting like a poisonous snake. Sizzling cum starts to build in my lower stomach. My tucked cock hardens uncomfortably.

I stumble backward, nearly falling. "My bo–boyfriend," I stammer.

"Baby seems like you don't know what you want...I can invite you in so we can figure it out."

Bingo, I can get some information on him, use this to my advantage, maybe he'll spill the tea on where the money is from. I could play with him to get my way. "Do you live around here?"

"I'm crashing there." He points up to my apartment...MOTHERFUCKER!! I feel my eye twitch; I try not to go off on him. Relax, go with this new plan. "Let's get a drink."

"Tell me your name..." So I can add you to the fucking death note.

"James." He takes my hand and leads me to the stairs. He was pushy...and seems to be excited to see me, or just needs entertainment while he stakes out? Waiting for me...possibly to kill me. Okay, I don't have my pepper spray...what the shit! Think.

The new plan is to get his full name and more information on the card. Like Sam said...I play things close to the chest...so do that, okay? Be one step ahead of him. I'll get through this. Our feet slap up the stairs; he moves the kick down door that he busted, down to the side. There are broken pieces of door atop one another, reminding me of puzzle pieces.

Omg...this will have to get physical in order to get him where I wanted him. Half of me wants him to bend me over and drill...but the other half of me is scared shitless of his hidden rage.

.....

James wastes no time, his eager lips plaster onto mine as soon as we get inside. I wrap my hands around his neck, pushing him deeper into my lips. Make it believable. "Hmm, baby." His hands work down to my waist, ringing around it like sandpaper...I feel a burn and gasp. Moaning. Okay...say something before it goes too far...before he touches me down there. But I let sensations get the best of me...his hands were static as they touch me...stinging my skin. His kisses magnetically addictive...so juicy and dominate. Damn, daddy.

"Let's go to bed..." I get feisty as I shove him towards my bedroom. Think, Chris, think! My mind panics, he thinks you're a girl. SHUT UP! My sex drive responds. Fuck...

On the bed we go, I take the top position, kind of saddling him, but not letting my waist touch his. Even tho I tucked well, I stay a few inches away, it's to risky. I undress him, removing his coat and tossing it. My hands work to his shirt, a silky button-up that I didn't want to get dirty. It's way too nice and shiny. James places my hands on his crotch then rips his shirt off. Whoa....body builder he must be. I've never seen anything more than a six-pack, TRY TEN PACK! his body is a machine, tight and curved. Holding the most muscle I've ever seen. Oh fuck, don't get caught....I'll get beaten to death. James try to do the same to my sweater, but I smack him hard across the face.

"Ahhh!" He grins, turned on by the pain.

"This is going my way, okay?"

"Okay." He licks his lips, his eyes lighting up playfully. I slide my hand into his pants, then into his underwear...not believing...doubting the thick, mega long bulge I find there. The motherfucker was massive and hard as cement. I trace my nails down it, sighing at the abnormal length. "What do you want to do?" He lifts to breathe onto my neck. I fight the urge to take off his lower clothing and hump him.

Take off pants, yes, hump him, no. "How about this?" I pull his pants and underwear down in one swoop. "Here are the rules...no touching my pussy and boobies, they're off-limits. I'm with someone." I add cleverly. "But I can fool around." I grip his dick, James grunts from the pressure I apply. "You have no power, now, get behind me. I want it in the ass."

"Yes, ma'am." James swipes my hair to the side and kisses my neck. He tries grabbing my boobs, but I smack his hands away. "It's hot how stubborn you are." James begins to jerk off; his skin faps back, his wet cock, the fapping sound makes me drip. Don't get a boner!

I reverse saddle him and pull down my pants, only the back part, only enough to show my lil ass...nothing more. I peek back at him; James continues jerking himself off with one hand while he uses the other to grope my ass. The sound of fapping and grunting goes on, intensifying. He speeds up the pace. My eyes close, and I perch my torso up some, getting hot and bothered from the sound. My waist thrusts in anticipation. Fuck...oh god, I knew this was gonna feel so damn good, guys who took their time with sex were savage. Excitement and impatience take over me. "Ready?" He sits up behind me.

"Hmm mmm." I press my butt cheeks together so that he'd have to force his cock in. "Do it." Next thing I know, his cock tip is on my asshole....from what I was feeling... it wasn't gonna fit. The tip is way too wide. I was about to address this, but he jams the tip into my creaming, hot ass. "FUUUCCCKK!!!!!" I scream bloody murder...and moan so loud that I surprise myself. The sound travels well beyond the room. He covers my mouth with a hand and keeps jamming it in until I loosen my cheeks and let him inside. I feel it scrape my innards. I inhale sharply, flopping against his waist and jerking my body. The bed creaks and bounces. His dick wasn't even all the way in yet, and it felt like this?!!! "Ahhhahhhahhh!" I gag under his hand. Whimpering and sucking in air. His long dick reaches my stomach. "UGH UGH UGH UGH UGGGGHHH!!" The bed bumps against the wall.

James slithers inside me, drilling and slipping in and out, lubricated with cum. "Ask me nicely."

I bite his fingers, which cover my mouth; this makes him go into wild gasps. "Please?" His dick is in my stomach, so warm, so big, so wet, so heated...so jerky, so hard. "OH MY GOD!!!" I cry actual tears and fall to my elbows, my face press onto the mattress, my eyes buck in shock and arousal.

He vibrates violently inside me, slamming the bed to the wall. His cock rocking back and forth, side to side, circling inside my ass. Clapping my skin so vigorously. My body flops up and down against him, smack smack smack, our bodies make music. My bed sounded as if it was gonna crash down, concerning squeaking fills the room now. His breaths go ragged.

"Moan," I demand in an airy gasp.

He puts a hand on my head. "No." He says, aggressively smothering my face into the mattress. I struggle for air, suffocating, fighting for oxygen. I can't breathe!! I gag, my face going red with a cold sweat. A hot liquid sprays inside of me.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,
> 
> If you’re enjoying the story so far, please comment 💙


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